


meet uncute

by liionne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, I think?, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uh- hi."</p><p>Steve looks up to see 214 looking down at him, and he gives a small smile, lips twitching, before he turns back. Oh god. It's not hard to remember that the last time he saw this guy he was holding a chinchilla in a makeshift blanket bag in nothing but his underwear. He blushes jut at the thought, and turns away.</p><p>"Hi." He returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	meet uncute

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a tumblr post that I can no longer ind, and I've tried to ix as many errors as I can; apologies or any mistakes!

Steve has seen the posters. He has absolutely no idea what a Chinchilla is, and the only Chinchilla he's ever seen is the one on the poster, which reads _"LOST: Grey/White Chinchilla. Answers to Sasha. Return to Apartment 214."_ Apartment 214 being the one above and across the hall from Steve's; he lives in 107. He's hoping, praying every night, that whatever a Chinchilla is, it's not in his home. Anywhere in his home. Even if he can't see it. Because that thing looks like an oversized rat, and Steve doesn't want it anywhere near his apartment, and his little Birman cat, Freedom.

And that's how he finds the Chinchilla. Scuttling across his bedroom floor.

The shriek he gives is rather unmanly, and sends Freedom jumping three feet into the air before she heads for the windowsill, trying to get as far away from the little fluffy rat thing as she possibly can. Steve watches it stop in the middle of the floor to groom itself, or something, and he takes a deep breath.

"Okay Steve," He says aloud, whispering to himself as if talking to loudly might scare it away. "Okay, you can do this." He grabs the blanket from the end of his bed. He's seen people do this on wildlife shows before, he's sure. He approaches the little thing slowly, carefully-

And then he throws the blanket over it.

He's gentle as he tries to pick it up, despite it's squirming. And it really is squirming. He grimaces, and ends up holding the blanket like a sort of make-shift bag. The thing is still squirming like crazy, so Steve tells Freedom to hold down the fort whilst he goes upstairs to take it to apartment 214.

When he gets there, he knocks on the door, and he looks down at his squirming Blanket-Bag of Chinchilla. This has to be the single weirdest thing he's ever done. Although to be fair, as a 90 pound asthmatic college graduate, he hasn't done a lot of weird things.

He hears the bolt slide back on the door, and the handle turn, and he watches as the door swings open to reveal perhaps the most freaking gorgeous person Steve has ever seen in his 25 years of living.

He's tall, taller than Steve (but everyone is taller than Steve) but not too much, the living embodiment of tall, dark and handsome. With cheek bones that could cut steel, and eyes a sort of grey-blue that Steve has never seen before, this guy looks like he's walked off a catwalk. He could have, to be honest. The guy raises his eyebrows at Steve, and Steve's sure he imagines the once over he gets.

"I have your Chinchilla." He says, holding out the squirmy bag.

214 blinks, and looks down at it. "My Chinchilla." He echoes.

Steve flushes, and sheepishly admits, "It's in the blanket."

"I gathered." 214 answers, nodding.

Steve hands it over, and 214 looks a little startled as he takes the bag from him.

"I really tried not to hurt him. I hope he's okay." Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just- keep the blanket."

214 nods slowly, looking down at it once more before looking back up to Steve. "Yeah. Sure. Thank you, by the way."

Steve nods. "Any time." He answers, his head feeling a bit fuzzy and his heart skipping beats as he steps away, looking down at his feet before he walks back to the stairs. He really doesn't mean that _any time_ thing, because god, he hopes he never has to do this ever again.

He returns to his apartment more than a little embarrassed, until he realises that he's walked up to 214, had a five minute conversation, and walked back down in nothing but a jumper and his underwear.

He sighs softly. He really does hate himself a little bit.

~*~

Steve doesn't see 214 again, and he's kind of glad. He's pretty ashamed of himself, if he's being honest.

A week or so later, on a Friday night, Natasha and Sam manage to convince him to go to Coney Island. He's got a comic to finish for Monday morning, and he's yet to colour the last few frames, but they're very persistent.

"It's one night, Steve. You've got the whole of Saturday and the whole of Sunday to finish it off." Natasha says, kicking her legs where she sits on Steve's kitchen counter, cup of coffee in hand. Sam sits at the kitchen table, whilst Steve leans against the bench. Steve taps his fingers against the side of his mug, and Sam huffs a sigh.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, man." He says, and Steve shifts uncomfortably. He really does want to go, is his problem, but he's always had a thing about deadlines. Specifically: being done before them. He huffs a sigh, and he nods.

"Sure. I'll go." He says, and he gives a smile as he tosses his cup into the sink. "But only for a couple of hours. And then I'm coming back."

The two of them grin, and Steve rolls his eyes. On their way out, Sam calls over his shoulder,

"Wear layers, it's going to be cold!"

Steve tuts, and calls a "You're not my ma!" at him as he leaves, even if he does smile a little at the closed door.

~*~

He does dress warm, though. It's November, too close to Christmas for him to be braving the cold, and in Brooklyn, it gets freaking cold. So he's got his plaid shirt, his jumper, his coat, and his beanie, and he's feeling pretty toasty as he leaves the house. When he meets Natasha and Sam outside on the street, he sees that they're going for the warm look too; Natasha's wearing a bobble hat, and Sam is wearing the scarf Steve got him last Christmas. So at lest he doesn't feel to silly as they walk towards the attraction, his hands shoved into his pockets.

They start off easy. There's a one of those kiddies tea cups ride that they want to go on, all three of them crammed into one little cup (it's a god job Steve's small, because Sam _isn't_ ) and there's a few other things they spend the first hour on. Nothing that particularly knocks Steve sick. But then they drag him onto a massive rollercoaster, and yeah, he's totally done.

It doesn't help that they both get put into one car together, and Steve can only get shoved into one on his own a few cars down. He's about to just get out and leave them to it when someone else sit down beide him, and he balks.

214 looks at him, glaring at the backs of two heads a little further up. Steve looks down, and away, and fold his hands on his lap. He definitely didn't sign up for this. He huffs softly, and then hears a sharp inhale of breath beside him.

"Uh- hi."

Steve looks up to see 214 looking down at him, and he gives a small smile, lips twitching, before he turns back. _Oh god._ It's not hard to remember that the last time he saw this guy he was holding a chinchilla in a makeshift blanket bag in nothing but his underwear. He blushes jut at the thought, and turns away.

"Hi." He returns.

Silence.

"Is your, uh- your thingy-"

"Sasha?" 214 asks. He gives a small smile. "He's fine. He didn't like your little net, but he's fine."

Steve releases a soft sigh. "Good."

And then, more silence.

The ride begins to move after a moment, rolling slowly forward towards a steep incline. Steve can see the backs of Sam and Natasha's head, his lips pursing. He can't believe this. It's bullshit.

What's even worse, however, is that as they get to the top of the tracks, curving round a small, flat section, about to go down-

The ride stops. And it doesn't keep going.

"Are we stuck? We're stuck." Steve says, and 214 frowns.

"No way." He says. He peers over the edge, leaning out of the cart, and Steve scrabbles, pulling him back in over the side. 214 frowns, and Steve frowns right back at him. "It's like, an 80 foot drop. So get back into the car."

Wind whistles through Steve's hair, pushing back the blonde locks that fall free of his beanie, and he grimaces. Natasha turns around from a few cars up, holding her hand out and making a small circle with her thub and forefinger, other fingers splayed out. The raise of his eyebrows tells Steve it's a question. " _Okay?_ "

After half an hour sat the top, Steve realises he's forgotten his gloves. With no more conversation between him and 214, his mind has started to wander, and he looks down at his hands. He's always had bad circulation, that much is true, but then again, he's always had bad _everything_. So when he sees his fingers turning purple, he doesn't worry too much. They'll go back to normal as soon as he can get his hands on Sam's gloves. Literally.

Apparently, 214 doesn't know that.

"Oh my god-" He says, eyes widening. "Your fingers--"

"They're fine." Steve says, cheeks pinking. Now if his fingers could just do that...

214 shakes his head. "Come here."

He reaches out and takes Steve's hands, and Steve almost melts. His hands are so warm, and so soft, and he's so careful as he holds Steve's hands in his own. It's genuinely quite nice.

He looks up, and for a brief second his eyes meet 214's, grey meeting blue, and Steve looks away, eyes ahead of them, and then at their hand. 214 was looking at him- had he been looking at him at the time?

"Y'know, you never did introduce yourself."

Steve stares for a second, before he speaks. "Uh- Steve. My name is Steve." He answers, smiling softly.

"Bucky." He answers, and he gives his hand a gentle squeeze; not a shake, but Steve catches the meaning, and his lips twitch.

"Your parents christen you that?"

Bucky shrugs his shoulders; he looks like he doesn't care, but Steve can see the smile tugging at his lip as he turns away. "It's better than James Buchanan."

"Mm. Much better, you're right." Steve teases, to which he receives a shake of Bucky's head.

"Punk." He says, a smile in his voice.

"Jerk." Steve retorts, automatically, and is met by a brilliant smile as the ride begins to move again. His hands slip from Bucky's, and he tries to wipe the smile off his face, but honestly, it's easier said than done.

Bucky says _"see you later"_ when the ride ends. Steve thinks, _"I sure hope so."_

"So you met James." Natasha says, as they walk away to go and get cotton candy.

Steve raises an eyebrow as Sam hands over his gloves. "James?"

"You were on the ride with him." She clarifies, and Steve hums softly at the warmth that floods his hands. But then, of course, he realises that _James_ is _Bucky_ , Steve's latest crush, and Steve just can't handle talking to Natasha about him, not now. His hum turns somewhat stangled as he blinks, taking his cotton candy from the vender.

"Yeah. Uh, yeah, I did." And a swift subject change- "I can't believe that thing broke down, though. I mean I know the Cyclone is old, but it's supposed to be well maintained..."

~*~

Steve sees Bucky a few times in the hall and things, and they stop, they chat. They go over to each other's places for coffee, and Steve gets to know that Sasha the Chinchilla isn't as bad as he thinks, and Bucky gets to know that Steve's cat is not a fan of anyone who isn't Steve, or Natasha if she approaches slowly enough. Steve learns what Bucky looks like when he laughs from his belly, when he beams, not just grins, how his eyes crinkle and his lips turn up. Bucky learns that Steve has a lot of nervous habits, like pushing his glasses up, and chewing his lips (or at least, Steve assumes he learns that, because Bucky sees to spend a lot of time looking at them). They're friendly. Just not as friendly as Steve would like them to be when he lies in bed at night and thinks about Bucky pressed up against his back, about them lying together and kissing and maybe fumbling just a little. Maybe.

Definitely.

But it's another three weeks when Natasha announces she's hosting her annual-ish potluck a week early this year. She always holds it between thanks giving and christmas, as a sort of holiday get together for their ridiculously large group of friends, but she's going home to Russia for Christas this year, and so she's hosting the potluck a whole week earlier than usual.

Which means Steve is a whole week behind.

He knows the pie is going to be better fresh. He brings the same thing every time, because everyone always asks him to. He makes his ma's pumpkin pie, with her secret ingredient, and he smiles smugly as every tries some because no one ever, not _ever_ , gets the secret ingredient. It's been five years, and no one has come even close.

He's kind of late to the potluck, actually, because he has a nightmare with his pastry and has to run to the store to get more ingredients to make more, which really does set him behind, but he gets there eventually. He moves Sam's gumbo and Tony's chili around so that he can set his pumpkin pie down, and when he stands up, he sees someone he really wasn't expecting to see.

"Bucky?"

Bucky looks up from where he's poking one of Bruce's stuffed peppers, and he grins, setting his plate down and moving over to where Steve is.

"Hey!" he grins, stopping just short of Steve and reaching out to set a hand on Steve's arm. It falls away after a moment, leaving warmth in its place. "Nat said you were coming."

Bucky has been _expecting_ him. "Yeah, well," Steve shrugs his shoulders, gives Bucky a smile as his cheeks pink. He pushes his glasses up his nose. "I come every year. Natasha just likes me for my pie."

"She mentioned your pie. She says she's going to trick the secret ingredient out of you, so watch yourself." Bucky grins, and then his eyes catch the table and he starts again. "Mm, you should try some of this, alright."

"What is it?" Steve asks, watching Bucky pick up one of the small squares and put it on a plate.

"Kartoshnik." Bucky answers, grinning. "Potato cake. Usually a side dish, but it's pretty damn nice on its own."

Steve nod slowly, observing it. "Whose is it?"

"Mine." Bucky nods, and really, Steve doesn't need any more incentive to take a piece and put it in his mouth.

He hums as he chews, flavour burting over his tongue. "It's good," He says around a full mouth. "Really good. What's in it?"

"Potatos, swiss cheese, cheddar cheese, onion, butter-"

"Onion?" Steve interrupts. He was just about to swallow, but now his face pales and he blinks.

"Yeah..." Bucky says slowly. He knows something's wrong. "What about it?"

"I'm allergic." Steve answers, and he hears Bucky murmur _oh shit_ as he grabs a napkin, saying, "Spit it out, spit it out!"

Steve takes the napkin and does as he's told, but he can feel his throat closing up and tongue swelling, his cheeks going red.

"Is it the "break out in hives" kind of reaction or the "my throat closes up and I can't breath" kind of reaction?" Bucky asks. He's got both hands on the top of Steve's skinny arms, and Steve just tries to breathe.

"The last one." He gasps, and Bucky nods, an arm around his shoulders as he ushers him out. "Just breathe." He tells him. "Nice and slow, nice and slow. Nat! Nat we're going! I'll text you later."

And with that they leave the apartment, before anyone can argue or protest.

~*~

Steve is taken through to the ER, and given a shot of adrenaline, and an oxygen mask. He's also scolded about not carrying his epi-pen with him, but he's not exactly listening to that. For a long time, Bucky isn't allowed to come and see him. They sit Steve down in a bed and tell him to stay there until a doctor comes to check on him. It's only after he's told he can take the oxygen mask off that Bucky comes quickly to his bedside, and holds his hand.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, chewing his lip.

Steve shrugs his shoulders. "Hungry." He anwers, grinning softly.

Bucky's lips twitch, and then he looks down at the bed, at their joined hands. "Sorry for almost killing you."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, and he gives Bucky's hand a soft squeeze. "You didn't know."

"I guess." Bucky murmurs. He looks up at Steve once more, and meets his gaze. "Are we going back to Nat's place?"

"You can," Steve nods. "But I- I think I might just go home. And nap, probably."

"Is it-" Bucky begins, but he stammers. "Would you- I mean if I- Do you ind if-" He sighs. "Can I come with you?"

Steve's eyes widen; he hadn't expected Bucky to want to, let alone to ask. He nods dumbly, and smiles. "Yeah. Yeah, of course you can."

The answers earns him a wide grin, and Steve grins back, holding Bucky's hand as they leave the hospital.

~*~

Bucky fumbles his way around the apartment as Steve curls up on the couch. Bucky spends a lot of time opening and closing cupboard doors, looking for what he needs, but after a while he sets a mug of tea down in front of Steve and settles in the arm chair by the sofa. Steve has the TV on, switched to some space documentary, but he's not watching it. He looks over at Bucky and smiles. "Thanks."

"Considering I almost killed you, it's the least I could do." Bucky counters, giving Steve a soft, if nervous, smile.

Steve just smiles back, and then turns to look at the TV. Neither Nat nor Sam have tried contacting him to see if he's alright, even though they've been gone for a good two hours now and haven't given them any word. Maybe they know it wasn't too serious, or maybe they know that Steve is in good hands. He kind of hopes it's the latter, because he'd like to think his friends were worried about him despite the severity - or lack thereof - of what had happened. He's selfish like that.

Steve's not sure when he falls asleep. He just knows that Bucky's presence is very comforting, that it's soothing him. It's nice to not be alone for a change, especially when Freedom, the cat, jumps up and lies along his side. Between the two of them, he doesn't feel so alone. So no, he's not sure when he falls asleep, but he knows he does it with a smile on his face.

~*~

Natasha leaves for Russia a week later, and Sam a week after that for Washington. Steve is left alone. But then again, he's used to that. In college, he spent Christmas of his Freshman year by his mother's bedside. In his following years, he spent them on campus, alone. Now, he spends them in his apartment, alone (even though only one Christmas has passed since he actually moved in here, in all fairness). So on Christmas eve, he does what he usually does. He makes himself a gingerbread latte with the syrup Sam had bought him from Starbucks (he's a good friend, better than Steve deserves, because it tastes _amazing_ ) and he curls up with Freedom on the sofa to watch the Santa Clause.

Or at least, that's how his Christmas Eve starts.

At about eight o'clock, there's a knock on the door. Outside the window it's dark, and snow is falling. He has no idea who'll be outside his door, but when he opens it, he realises he should have known all along.

Bucky beams at him, a cage in one hand and some boxes in the other, beers tucked under his arm. "Any chance you're spending Christmas alone?"

Steve narrows his eyes at him, but he's smiling. "How did you know?"

"A certain Russian kitty cat might have let herself out of the bag." Bucky says, rather cryptically, actually, but Steve does know what he means. Nat told. Steve thinks he could kiss her for directing Bucky to his door, but it's not like he would ever tell Bucky that.

"C'mon in," Steve beckons, closig the door behind them.

Bucky has brought Chinese food, and has ordered _everything_ without onions; which means, of course, that he was always planning on bringing this stuff down to Steve. They drink, they eat, and they end up in a heap on the sofa watching Elf, because the Santa Clause ended and they feel like they need something on in the background, to occasionally watch and to fill in the silence of the room around them whilst they talk. They seem to talk about everything. Their lives in Brooklyn, not five blocks away from one another before Bucky's father moved them all to Russia, their time at college, their time in the apartment building, Nat and Sam, the story of story of Steve rescuing Freedom as a kitten from a storm drain- everything. They both leave out their parents for the most part, though. Christmas isn't the time for sad stories.

Steve is falling asleep curled into Bucky's side, his head resting over his chest, but maybe Bucky hasn't noticed, as he says, "I've got you a gift. I understand if you haven't, I won't mind-"

"I've got you something." Steve murmurs, smiling. "But you gotta wait til morning."

Bucky doesn't finish the sentence Steve had interrupted, but he does smile, and he nods, giving Steve a gentle squeeze. "I was gonna say the same thing to you, punk."

"Jerk." Steve answers sleepily. He drops off to the sound of Bucky chuckling low in his throat, a warm arm wrapped around his shoulders.

~*~

He wakes up on Christmas morning, however, to the sound of Bucky snoring.

"Oh my god," Steve groans. Freedom begins to purr when Steve brushes her back with his foot, thinking she's about to be stroked. "Oh my god, Buck." Steve elbows him in the ribs. He's warm, and so comfortable, but- " _Buck_ , are you gargling _gravel_ , Christ almighty-"

Bucky wakes up with a start, taking a deep breath in through his nose as he snaps his mouth shut. He sees Steve, and he smiles dozily. It's freaking adorable. "Happy Christmas, Stevie."

"Happy Christmas to you too, you big lug." Steve sighs, resting his head back down on Bucky's chest again. Bucky reaches behind him, over the arm of the sofa, and fumbles for a moment before he produces the box. He arches an eyebrow as he opens it; it's a mixed bag of paints and pencils and pens, so many art supplies- "Woah." Steve murmurs.

"Yeah." Bucky rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "I know you said you work for that comic book company, but I've never seen you do any art around the house, so- you can start now."

Steve nods slowly, and then he flushes. "Oh man." He murmurs. "This is so much better than my present for you."

"I'll be the judge of that." Bucky says. Steve scrambles up, setting the art supplies on the table, and grabs the box for Bucky. It's suspiciously light when Bucky takes it, and he shakes it, frowning when it makes no noise. He goes to tear the paper off, and Steve nods. "Go on."

Bucky opens it, to reveal a woolly hat that resembles a christmas pudding, a pair of mittens - mittens! - and a Christmas jumper, decorated with different snowmen. Steve reaches out and presses something, and it begins to play a high pitched, tinny sort of tune - a Christmas song. Bucky laughs. He laughs, and he doesn't stop laughing, and Steve feels his cheeks grow pink.

"I was going to convince you to make a snowman with me." Steve admits. Bucky grins back at him, like he so often does, and yet Steve still feels somewhat giddy with it. His eyes flick to Bucky's lips before looking back up, and now he's sure he can see Bucky's cheeks turning pink.

"I'd love to make a snowman with you, Stevie." He beams, and Steve nods.

"Breakfast first. Then snowman." He says, and Bucky nods.

"Whatever you want, kid." He grins, pulling the hat on over his mussed up hair.

~*~

They go out into the snow. It's not a total blizzard, just little bits, little flakes floating down on the breeze. Steve freaking loves it. The cold brings flu, and hypothermia, and pneumonia, and so many doctors have warned him to stay inside, to stay in the warm, but Steve loves nothing more than a white Christmas. Nothing at all.

He's wrapped up in more layers than he ever could have thought possible. His shirt, a jumper, a cardigan, a coat, hat, scarf, gloves- it's a miracle he can walk, and it's all Bucky's fault. He had looked at Steve, in his jumper, scarf and coat, and shook his head. And so now Steve waddles outside, unable to move, for the most part. He's only just gotten out of the door when a snowball hits him at the side of his cheek, and he blinks, watching the ice melt as it clings to his eyelashes, and then he gasps.

"Oh no you don't, jerk."

He grabs a handful and packs it into a vague ball-ish shape, and throws it at Bucky. It's weak, only hits his left shoulder, but Steve doesn't care. He feels another one hit his butt, and then another at his ribs, and he's laughing, breathlessly, chasing Bucky around outside their apartment building. He manages to get Bucky on his back, and then at his chin, and then one right by his ear, and he can see snow clinging to Bucky's hair where it pokes out of the hat, his eyelashes, melting and running down his cheek. His head is thrown back in a laugh, and Steve stops, breathing heavily. Bucky is _beautiful_. He's rosy cheeked and grinning wildely and he just looks so _good_.

Steve flops onto the snow with a soft _ooft_ , and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the snow seeping into his skin and feeling oddly warm, he sees Bucky peering over him, concerned.

"You with me, Stevie?" He asks, and Steve nods. A soft smile tugs at his lips. "I'm with you." He assures him. "Just going to make a snow angel."

He watches the worry disappear from Bucky's face, and he turns. He falls, backwards, onto the snow beside Steve. Their fingertips are touching through their gloves and mittens. It makes Steve smile.

Bucky moves his arm first, moving his legs in tandem, and Steve follows suit. He can no longer feel the wet soaking through to his frail, skinny bones, but he can feel Bucky's hands when they pull him up, holding his, a mixture of gentle and firm.

"C'mon, Stevie," He says, stepping back carefully so as not to ruin their angels. Steve's is tiny, smaller than Bucky's by a mile. But their wings are overlapping just a little, making them seem somehow joined, and even though it's sappy as hell it makes Steve smile.

"Let's get you inside." Bucky continues. "And changed; you'll catch your death."

But he's grinning, and he slips an arm around Steve's shoulders, so Steve decides to go ahead and let him be a little protective for a change.

~*~

It's maybe the best Christmas Steve has had since his Ma died. He's curled up on the sofa, tucked under Buckys arm, pressed against his side, wearing an oversized jumper. The cat is curled up in his lap, and what else could Steve want, really? He's warm, he's sure as hell eaten well, and he's happy on Christmas, for a change. He settles into Bucky's embrace, and falls asleep during Miracle on 34th Street. He decides he might well just stay here for the rest of the holidays.

~*~

But the New Year rolls in, as it was always going to. Natasha's still in Russia, and Sam is still in Washington, but a few of their friends who couldn't get the time off work, or alternatively wanted the double pay New Year's Day work offered, and they all group together to get a couple of bottles of cheap champagne, and head up onto the roof. Bruce and Betty are there, Peter, hanging by the corner with Gwen, Carol stands with Wanda, and Bucky and Steve are sat in the deck chairs they'd brought up, perfect to watch the fireworks.

"One minute to midnight!" Carol hollers, and everyone gets ready, grabbing glasses and looking towards the sky.

"Are you warm enough?" Bucky asks, hands hovering. "Do you want my gloves? My coat?"

"Bucky," Steve laughs, taking a champagne glass from Bruce. Bucky follows suit. "I'm fine. Stop fussing, you'll miss the countdown."

Bucky chews his lips. He's worried about something. Nervous. Steve has no idea what, but he figures if it was something big, Bucky would tell him. They're close like that, now.

When it's time, the entire roof begins to chant. "Ten, nine, eight-"

Bucky reaches out and takes Steve's hand. Steve looks at him, startled. He's looking at Steve with dark eyes, so hard to read. Steve has no idea what's going on.

"Three, two, one-"

And that's when Bucky launches over his seat and kisses Steve, crashing their lips together, hard and then softer, ever so softly, as the cheers of _Happy New Year_ ring in their ears. Bucky's hand wraps around the back of Steve's neck to hold him close, and all Steve can do is moan, moan against Bucky's lips as his hand slips up to linger by his neck. It's a ridiculously good feeling, the warmth that spreads from their contact, into his chest, and his stomach. He pulls away, head swimming, and he gives Bucky a goofy, toothy kind of grin. Bucky's looking at him the exact same way, light dancing in his eyes.

"Happy new year, Stevie."

"Happy new year, Buck."

A pause. A beat. Their hands are still entwined.

"What's your resolution?" Bucky asks. They're so close together that their lips almost brush when they speak, and Steve can feel warm breath on his face.

Steve gives a grin, hand slipping from Bucky's neck to his shirt. "To do this more often." He says, tugging Bucky into him, their lips meeting once more. He makes good on that resolution, too. He kisses Bucky a hell of a lot more in the months that follow.


End file.
